Bountiful Fruits is a welcoming and non-judgmental place where others may come to learn more about the loving Adult Nursing Relationship (ANR) I share with my husband.
Although our personal ANR is based upon our spiritual and religious beliefs, everyone is welcome. Please extend common courtesy and respect to others. Comments are always welcome, and questions are encouraged, as curiosity is a natural human instinct--just as nursing for nourishment and comfort is.

Monday, October 17, 2016

I wanted to let everyone know that this will be my final blog post here. As wonderful as the past six months have been, the time has come for me to move forward and focus on my website. I simply do not have the time to maintain this blog and Bountiful Fruits.

Over time, posts will either be disabled, or redirected to Bountiful Fruits, which is growing into a lovely little ANR community, thanks to the wonderful people who have shown such support and encouragement. I have added many new features, including a forum and chat room, and I hope you'll consider joining me there.

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

For the past six months, I have re-dedicated my life to that of a nursing wife, a joyful journey that I have been blessed to share with the man I love; he is my constant and faithful companion, my dearest friend, the father of my children, and just as the seasons have blossomed and transformed from spring to summer, and now into autumn, so has the depth of our love.

And to be given the blessing of rediscovered new love after spending 16 years with someone is a beautiful and beloved gift.

I love Mr. S' face, the high cheekbones, the set of his jaw, the distinct sloping line of his nose, and his beautiful blue eyes, the eyes that are not truly the color of a midnight sky or a piece of fine turquoise, but a shade somewhere in between the two, kaleidoscope eyes whose changing color is as unique as he is.

And while I have always known that comforting and familiar face, I have now been shown a very different side of it, something that can only be described as his nursing face, that visage of sublime peace and relaxation, the contentedness that smoothly transforms the little lines that fan from the corners of his eyes and erases the tiny furrows between his eyebrows, the set of his jaw, the fan of his lips, the shadows that his eyelashes cast upon his cheeks. I quietly watch him in soft, golden lamplight, as he lies contentedly and unaware at my breast, lulled by my breathing, my heart beat, my milk, everything that makes me very aware of my presence as a woman, his wife. I have memorized that face. I am in love with it.

I have nursed this man often throughout the course of our marriage, but this time, during this part of my journey, the experience is a bit different because it is a path that we have created only for us.
In the past, I was a breastfeeding mother whose breasts belonged to her children; nature had blessed me with an abundant fountain of milk, and while Mr. S drank his fill, and enjoyed it very much, it was meant for our little ones' sustenance and nourishment. He did not come to the breast until the children had been tended to and fulfilled.

Now, the children are self-reliant, and my role has shifted from breastfeeding mother to that of a nursing wife. My breasts, and every drop of the milk that we have worked together to produce over the past six months, that now flows freely from them, belong only to him. Yes, this is a journey that we have carved out for us.

I have learned to balance lactation and life. I have learned an unspoken, and sometimes surreal, depth of love. I have reminded a strong, courageous, and self-reliant man that he is free to depend upon me without fear of losing his own independence.

Nursing has provided us the beautiful opportunity to focus on us, on a strong relationship that continues to strengthen, in the most intimate way that a man and a woman can connect. It has given two imperfect people the privilege of glimpsing perfection within the embrace of another's arms.

Autumn will fade, giving way to winter, but our love will remain unchanged, forever blooming, like the rarest rose amid the drifted snow.

Monday, August 22, 2016

On August 11, Mr. S and I celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary, and after we returned from a completely unexpected--and beautiful-- mini get-away, I blogged about our romantic adventure, beginning this two-part post last Monday with PART I. Here is the conclusion. :)

Before we headed out for the evening, Mr. S insisted that I open my gifts. The card he chose was so pretty.

And one of my gifts was a beautiful gold and diamond floating heart necklace.

Mr. S had made reservations for us at a fabulous fondue restaurant where we were shown to a private and intimate table for two. Imagine my surprise when I found the table top scattered with rose petals and saw the long-stemmed red rose lying at my place.

I felt so loved--and very much like a lady.

Dinner was fabulous; we shared cheese and chocolate fondue, complete with platters of artisan accompaniments and bowls of fresh fruits (and a virgin Love Martini for me).

And while the ambience was beautiful, the most perfect part of dinner was the quiet conversation we shared. We talked about everything, including our courtship and wedding day, and spent those long, leisurely moments strolling down the curving paths of memory lane. To be told that my husband still feels honored that I am his wife after so many years have passed was magical. We agreed to meet at the same place and at the same time fifteen years from that moment, and I immediately found myself anticipating that far-off moment.

Dark had fallen when we stepped out of the restaurant, and the plaza was beautifully lit with twinkling golden lights, so we took our time walking back to our car, and listened to our favorite songs as we drove back to the Welsh Hills.

Once we were settled into our beautiful suite, Mr. S lit some candles and turned on the soft, soulful strains of Billy Paul and Otis Redding. (Oh, he knows me too well, and knows what happens every time I hear "Me and Mrs. Jones" and "These Arms of Mine"! ;))

I took a relaxing bubble bath in the amazing Italian soak tub...

And Mr. S washed my back.

We spent the final moments of our Crystal Anniversary here:

Our life together is very much like a collection of eclectic short stories, part romantic fairytale and part gripping history. It is filled with passionate love stories and action-packed tales of adventure, and it is the greatest book that I have ever written. Each year I share with the man I love begins a new chapter in our book of life, and it seems that I can never wait to turn the page to find out what happens next.

Monday, August 15, 2016

I had been anticipating our 15th wedding anniversary for quite some time, but because of several recent life events, I assumed that a romantic August 11 get-away was out of the question, and made plans to spend a quiet and content evening at home.

But Mr. S had other plans.

He had arranged a fabulous anniversary surprise for me, making reservations for two at a beautiful Bed and Breakfast in the secluded Welsh Hills.

We began the morning of our crystal wedding anniversary at 6 a.m. with a glorious nursing session, and then he and I enjoyed our morning coffee before sharing breakfast with the children, who had taken the time to make us beautiful anniversary cards, and then prepared to head out just before 9:00. Once the children were settled in with my parents, Mr. S and I were free to head off on our adventure for two in the rolling Welsh Hills.

We stopped off in a beautifully quaint historic town filled with interesting and eclectic little shops, art galleries, and cafes. The cobblestone streets were lined with blooming magenta and pink impatiens and lacy ferns and little umbrella-clad bistro tables. After strolling hand-in-hand along the winding walkways and browsing in antique jewelry shops and vintage bookstores and confectionaries, we decided to have lunch at Moe's, a bluesy restaurant on Main Street.

I loved the atmosphere. Fabulous pencil art sketches of iconic musicians lined the walls, and we enjoyed eating to soft blues music, talking over the soulful strains of Otis Redding (my favorite) and Ray Charles.

Mr. S loves the Blues Brothers, so we had to take a photo of Jake and Elwood!

Mr. S loved his "deep south" meal, prepared Alabama-style:

Note the collard greens and red beans and rice? It's hard to believe that he was born and raised in Detroit. :) But his parents had deep southern roots that somehow managed to imprint themselves on my love. ;)

After lunch we headed out once more, this time to Whitt's coffee shop where we ordered two cups of amazing coffee and hand-made vanilla custard, which we shared under the shade of a ruffled umbrella.

I felt so relaxed, so attuned to my husband, and knew that so much awaited us.

After a while, we headed back to the car, and drove toward our destination, taking the time to admire the pretty scenery and beautiful Colonial and Victorian homes along the way. After several long moments, we reached a long, curving tree-lined, sun-dappled lane, and followed it to the inn.

The inn was breathtaking, surrounded by fifteen acres of wooded beauty and lush English gardens, and owned by the most wonderful and hospitable couple who gave us a guided tour of the grounds before showing us to our luxury king suite.

Named Berllan Glyn, Welsh for orchard glen, the guest suite was filled with fabulous antiques, art work, and a gorgeous sitting area. The luxurious two-room bath housed an impressive glass and marble steam shower and was tastefully decorated with imported pieces of art. It also included a private screened-in terrace with a spectacular view of the gardens and private access to an amazing swimming pool.

Two o'clock had come, so we spent the next hour nursing, and afterwards, we strolled the grounds and enjoyed a long, leisurely swim in the pool, which was absolutely wonderful. Around 6:00, we shared a private--and very romantic--soak in the courtyard hot tub.

I could have been very content to spend the rest of the evening walking hand-in-hand among the gardens or enjoying the bocce ball court and the swaying two-person hammocks stretched between a pair of beautiful old pine trees, but, once again, Mr. S had other plans, so I put my hand in his, allowing him to lead me back to our suite so we could get ready for a night out.

Saturday, August 13, 2016

Once upon a time, quite by chance, a girl met a boy. They fell in love at first sight, and from that very moment, they vowed never to part.

Their love continued to bloom, and before she knew it, the girl was planning her wedding. On a warm August evening, just as three generations of women in her family had done before, she pledged her unending love to the man standing by her side, and she became his wife.

She soon learned the imperfect perfection known as marriage, and fell more deeply in love with him as each day passed. Soon, there were bills to pay, meals to cook, laundry to wash, separations to face--and the beautiful sounds of a baby's laughter and the gentle pitter patter of tiny feet.

Time passed quickly, and over the years she sometimes found herself faced with the sacred words of her marriage vows, standing by him for richer or poorer, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, and each time life presented itself to them in a way that was not always kind, she pulled herself more tightly to his side, adjusting her sails according to the wind's direction, weathering the storm...and fell more deeply in love.

She changed over the years, from a girl into a woman--and a mother. Her body blossomed, and with each new transformation, she saw new admiration in his eyes; he continued to tell her that she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen--and that he was the luckiest man in the world to have her, referring to her as "his girl", even after so many years had gone by. He told her that every change was a symbol of her love for him, creating a timeline of the history they had shared, and that every mark upon her skin was seen as a badge of honor and courage. And she knew the meaning of unabiding love in its purest form.

Suddenly, one day, as if in the blink of an eye, the calendar changed. It was August again. And the 15th year of their marriage had arrived.

Unbeknownst to her, this man had a very special surprise waiting for his "girl", and they slipped off on a romantic get-away for two, just as they had done so many years before.

They shared a wonderful day together, and that evening, he took her out for an intimate dinner, and when they were shown to their table, she found this waiting for her:

As she lifted the fragrant flower to her nose to inhale the heady perfume of its velvet petals, she realized that their love was very much like that rose. From a delicate bud it had flourished, unfurling with every passing moment, until bursting into full bloom to display the beauty it had always held inside.

And when she opened her eyes to find him watching her with a smile playing across his face, she smiled back and reached for his hand, which was waiting for her touch, and neither of them said a word. They didn't need to. Love was there...it had always been there. It was in their eyes. Just as it had been when they'd first met so long ago.

"What do you say?" he asked, lifting her hand to his mouth. "Same time, same place, 15 years from now?"

Monday, July 18, 2016

Before I begin this post with an explanation as to where I've been over the last week, I want to take a minute to say thank you to everyone who has sent messages of concern, asking about my well-being. The fact that you took time to think of me, and to ask after me and my family was absolutely emotionally overwhelming, and made me realize that there are truly wonderful people out there. I can't tell you how much I needed those messages, or how they lightened my heart. I'll personally respond to everyone just as soon as I can.

It was an eventful week in the M household. Unfortunately, Mr. S got injured at work last week, so I have been nursing (in many respects) the infirm, and because he and our three rambunctious bundles of joy are my top priority, I stepped away from my computer to tend to the needs of my love. I went through a couple of other rough patches, too, that reminded me that life simply happens sometimes, but as you can see from the photos below, I am okay--and back with a vengeance. ;)

Of course, nothing is all bad. There is good everywhere. I did manage to finish this:

So, how can I not continue to feel truly blessed--especially when I have people like you out there, cheering me on?

I'll be doing my best to post more this week, and because I am waaaayyyy behind on my podcast schedule, I'll do my all to have that uploaded too. Thank you all for your patience and continued support.

Sunday, July 10, 2016

The other afternoon, as I was organizing one of my kitchen cupboards, I came across my popsicle molds, which are normally used a lot in the summer so I can make healthy juice pops for the children. I tossed them into the sink to wash, and as I did, my eyes fell on the bottle of freshly-pumped breast milk I had set aside to store, and that's when inspiration struck.

(I'll bet you already know where I'm going with this, don't you? ;))

Breast milk freezes well in a bag. Why wouldn't it freeze well in a popsicle mold?
Because breast milk is a precious commodity, and I have plans for mine, and each mold cavity holds two ounces of liquid, I only filled two of them with liquid gold, and set them in the freezer to see what would happen.

Breastfed children are funny. When my children were little, Mr. S used to laugh every time their faces became smeared with that blissfully bleary milk-drunk expression; you know, the one that causes little mouths to slow their rhythm and little eyes to flutter and roll, and when they got older and began to talk, knowing that children are breast milk connoisseurs, he never failed to ask them the same questions in regard to their breakfast, lunch, or dinner. The conversation always went something like this:

Dad: "Is that good stuff?"

Child 1, 2, or 3: Nods

Dad: "Is it? What does it taste like?"

To which each child would reply with their own opinion. The oldest always said "red popsicles", the middle one (who is the ornery one of the bunch, and has always found himself extremely amusing, even as a toddler) would invariably say, "dill pickles", and the baby, our only little lady, would chirp the word "marshmallows!" with exuberance and joy, followed by the proclamation that it was "deee-wicious!"

(Disclaimer: My breast milk has never tasted like dill pickles. The middle kid, aside from being a clown, loved dill pickles, so I think it was a compliment.)
I allowed my milk pops to freeze overnight, and unmolded one the following evening. I had to let the mold set in a bowl of cool water for a couple of minutes to release the final product, but it finally came out fairly well--and what I held in my hand was a sleek vanilla-colored creamsicle. I was so excited that I went on the search to find the Mister.

"Check this out!" I cried when I'd found him. "I made a Momsicle!"

He looked up from the newspaper with absolutely no surprise. Very little fazes him, particularly now that I am blogging about our life. "Did you say a momsicle?" he asked.

"Yes! I made it from my milk. Here," I said, holding it out to him. "Try it."

He took a bite. So did I.

And, you know what?

It was really very good.

It didn't taste like a red popsicle, and it certainly didn't taste like a dill pickle, but it did sort of taste like a marshmallow, and after a couple more bites, I realized that my little lady's estimation of breast milk is quite accurate: it honestly was deee-wicious. ;)

If you're into consuming breast milk for health purposes, have some extra milk stockpiled, and happen to like ice cream bars, Momsicles might just be the way to go. Some women give them to their little ones to ease teething pain, too.

Because the calories in breast milk vary from woman to woman, depending on diet, and the time of day milk is expressed, (as well as the size of your popsicle molds) it is difficult to determine just how many calories a typical Momsicle will contain, but each of mine was approximately 22 calories, and you can be sure, no matter what, that your Momsicles will be loaded with lots of nutritious vitamins, nutrients, immune-boosting antibodies, and good fat!

Monday, July 4, 2016

If you share a committed and dedicated long-term adult nursing relationship as I do with Mr. S, then you will understand that the act of nursing plays a very large part in the experience, but it seems a bit unjust and one-sided not to mention the R factor nestled within every loving and successful ANR. In many ways, as two people work so closely together to build an unbreakable intimate bond to last a lifetime, the relationship becomes key, and the practice of suckling emerges as a beautiful incidental.

That is what adult nursing is like for Mr. S and me.

Every time he comes to the breast, we create a new chapter in our personal love story.

On Saturday, my aunt kept the children so we could enjoy a few blissful hours of quality adult time. We really had no particular plans, and because my aunt assured us that we should not hurry back, we eventually decided to take a long and leisurely twilight drive along some winding, unchartered country roads.

The evening was beautiful, and the weather was perfect. We rolled down our windows and let the soft summer breeze waft through the car as we cruised along, listening to our favorite songs, sometimes talking, other times, being very still as we enjoyed the quiet contentment of the other's company. S would reach for my hand, taking it in his own, and it was wonderful to feel his strength and presence as the trill of nesting birds and the chirping of crickets provided the music of evening.

So caught up in the moment, I lost track of time, not realizing how late it had grown. The scenery rolled slowly by, and endless fields stretched far beyond us on either side of the curving road.

That was when I noticed the sky.

It was magnificent. The setting sun cast a golden glow against a backdrop of periwinkle, fuchsia, and rose, transforming the trees into perfect silhouettes. It was breathtaking, and I asked S to pull the car over to the side of the road so I could admire the consummate perfection.

I took these photos, doing my best to capture sunset from a car, but they just don't display the true beauty of Saturday's sky, or the wonderful evening I shared with my husband.

Nursing is a bit like that beautiful sunset. It is glorious, but until you have the opportunity to experience it for yourself, you'll never truly realize the beauty and magic it can bring.

Friday, June 10, 2016

It seems that ANR and ABR are now hot new topics in the media. Maybe they always have been, and I'm just noticing the trend now that my circle within the adult nursing relationship community has expanded a bit, and I'm much more aware of my surroundings. Regardless, something has been troubling me over the past week, and I've found that blogging is quite therapeutic, so, after quite a bit of consideration, I decided to post this publicly with only the best intentions behind my written words.

Before I continue, I think it's very important that readers understand that I am, in no way, a controversial person. I believe in the age-old adage "live and let live", and always do my best to respect others' lifestyle choices and belief systems, and this has always been my goal as I share my thoughts and feelings, opinion, and advice on the loving adult nursing relationship. Although I am certainly not a serious journalist, nor will I ever be the Great American Novelist, I do take my writing very seriously--as seriously as I take my own ANR, and as seriously as I take the feelings and privacy of others regarding their ANRs.

So, with all of this being said, I'll confess that my concern pertains to the media; and, specifically, how the media handles the topic of ANR.

I was actually able to briefly discuss this concern with another couple two nights ago, and I feel that we share the same views on this issue--the media seems to feel that this lifestyle is a farce, some bizarre and unexplainable oddity, something that will intrigue and amuse their readers, as these "journalists" twist the truth into sensationalized fodder, and make a mockery out of the nursing relationship, and the couples who practice it. As the other husband and wife said, the problem with some journalists is that they only care about how many hits they receive on a particular story. I agree with that. Often, presenting the fact-based reality of a seemingly fascinating subject is far less interesting than transforming it into a tabloid story to catch readers' attention. I doubt many people would be fascinated by my life outside of the bedroom where I nurse my husband. It isn't very exciting to learn that I enjoy raising roses or growing vegetables or knitting doll clothes for my little lady's menagerie of blinky-eyed babies. There is not much mystique to explore, I'm afraid. I'm just an average woman with average struggles--and I just happen to nurse my husband.
Because of this, I do offer glimpses into the mundane part of my everyday life, as a way to keep this very real, as a way to normalize what could easily become sensationalized. I have taken part in two interviews at this point, with the potential for two more on the horizon, but I have turned down three offers to discuss my lifestyle choice because I questioned the motive behind the reporters' interest. I love to laugh, but I do not love being laughed at. There is humor in every aspect of life, including nursing, but I just don't see anything funny about the practice itself. It is so easy to handle any issues that arise within your lifestyle choice, as long as you hold onto the control you have over it. You can ignore rude and disrespectful questions, refusing to take the offered bait and feed the flames of ill-meaning fascination, and utilize social media's "unlike", "unfriend", and "unfollow" buttons, or block someone's e-mail from passing through your inbox, but once you hand your story over to the media, even with the best intentions behind it, your journey immediately becomes their story, to do with as they see fitting. I especially dislike the manner in which some journalists utilize quotation marks--they are an easy way to establish sarcasm and a can you believe this? camaraderie with their readers--within the written word. For example, when discussing ANR, some journalists will print: This woman "feeds" her husband. Those innocent quotation marks are offensive to me. And I worry a lot that I will make a terrible judgment call and share my story with the wrong reporter. Sometimes, it feels as if I am taking one step forward to spread the word that ANR can be a completely healthy and absolutely normal part of a couple's everyday life, and then some "journalist" (see what I just did there with the quotation marks? ;)) comes along and pushes me two steps back.

It's really no wonder there's so little trust within the nursing community. Everyone has feelings. No one wants to be the butt of a horrible joke.

I decided to conduct my own interviews for very specific reasons. When I ask to speak to a couple about their own journey, it is always done with the greatest of intentions, as a way to share fresh perspectives on the lifestyle, as a way to build understanding and something of a kinship. I also use these interviews as an outlet for people who would love to be able to share the beauty of their personal ANRs in a safe, secure, and discreet way without the fear of embarrassment, criticism, amusement, or shame. And when these wonderful people agree to speak with me, I am fully aware of the truth: they don't know me. Their willingness to discuss this with me is based solely on trust. They are entrusting me with an extremely tender part of their personal lives, and this is quite meaningful to me.

As a matter of fact, one of the most touching messages I have ever received came from a woman who agreed to a Bountiful Fruits interview, and she contacted me after her story was posted on my website.

"You truly just touched my heart with your article/story. You wrote it so respectfully and just so beautiful. Thank you!"
I don't think I could ever explain what her words meant to me.
Although this post isn't the type that I would normally publish, I'm glad that I decided to share my thoughts--and hope that you are, too. I'll return soon with new articles, which I'm very excited about, and, don't forget that ANR Chat Episode #3 is set to air in five days! Actually, it may become ANR Chat Episode #3, Part I and II, because I've received so many fantastic questions! Thank you, all!

Thursday, June 9, 2016

I was recently asked to contribute my thoughts on ANR to an interview conducted by Leigh Cuen. Although I was uncertain of whether or not this was the right decision to make, I consented, and I'm glad I did, as a way to "normalize" rather than sensationalize the beautiful adult nursing relationship.

I received a follow-up note from Ms. Cuen earlier that read:

"Thank you for contributing such a thoughtful interview to this article. It was a great help in taking a sensationalist viral story and giving it real, humanizing context..."

Saturday, May 7, 2016

As I sit down to write this post, I am truly a woman at peace. The house is very still, as it always is during the early hours of morning, but it no longer feels as if the silence is deafening and oppressing; it is a contented sort of peaceful quiet that I can truly enjoy once more because all is well and it feels as if my world is complete once more.

S came home to me last night.

It seemed as if he had been gone forever, and by the time I heard his car pull into our driveway around 10:50 p.m., I was as lighthearted and excited as I'd been on our very first date 16 years ago, because, you see, I had something very important to share with him.

As difficult as the long week was, I think the final three hours leading to his imminent arrival were far worse; he was so very close, but still quite far. I did a lot of pacing and clock-watching during those last 180 minutes, and every time my phone chimed, alerting me that he had texted an arrival time update, my heart soared.

Are you there, baby? I'm two hours out. Love you!Missing you like crazy. I'm about an hour from home. Less than 30 minutes now. I can't wait to nurse. Love you.
Neither of us are strangers to homecomings, and I wanted this one to be just as special and meaningful as the ones we've shared in the past. I had prepared myself as meticulously as I had on that first evening so long ago, and made our nursing space warm and inviting with lit candles and lamplight.

And I had placed the small wine-colored velvet pillow, what we call S' nursing pillow, in its proper place, among my reclining pillows, on our bed.

Just before 11:00, headlights washed through the window, and I heard the familiar purring of his car as it came to a smooth stop in front of our home. The engine stopped. Everything went dark. And my heart began to race.

I never thought he would make it inside!

He didn't need his key last night because I was waiting at the door to let him in.

He was beautiful!
There were several long moments of exchanging tight embraces and long kisses and sweet endearments, and he did what he has done for many years, the one thing that makes me feel beautiful and adored and treasured.

He took my face in his hands and looked into my eyes, as if memorizing what he saw in them.

From there, things grew a bit flirtatious; I asked him how he liked my new blouse, and I took him by the hand, and said, "Come with me. I want to show you something."

He was more than willing to follow me to the bedroom.

My body blossomed in S' absence, and I wanted to share the complete transformation with him, so we began our beautiful nursing session by looking at the photos I had taken throughout the week, and as I stroked his hair and he rubbed my back, I asked him to describe the changes he noticed, and each time he did, I reminded him that I was doing this for him.
Always and only for him.

I took his hands, those strong, work-roughened hands that handle my flesh with such gentle reverence, and led them to my breasts so he could explore that clothed swell, gauging their firmness, their fullness, with his fingertips before cupping them and supporting the weight of them in his palms. I covered his hands with mine, and felt the trembling flex of his fingers as they plied and pressed against my bosom.

We were both flushed. Our hearts were pounding in time, and when S was finally able to find his voice, his words were soft, hushed.

"They're so heavy."

"They're full," I replied. "They're full of the milk I made for you. And now they need to be emptied so you can be filled."

Our bed was waiting, warm and inviting, and he came to me, very much like a man who had been starving, and I eagerly gave him the one thing that would sate his desire.

That first latch was amazing.

Last night I was able to feed my husband's physical and emotional hunger from the breasts that had prepared such a feast over the course of one week.

It was glorious!

And when he had fed from each breast and had been lavished with caresses and kisses and whispered words of love throughout the entirety of our nursing session, he allowed his mouth to slip from my breast, and he thanked me for what I had given him.

But the pleasure was mine.

To be the woman who is blessed to nurture and nourish this gracious and loving man is a gift beyond compare.

He completes me.

Without S, I am only half of a person.

When he had nursed, I allowed him to drift off to sleep, and it was beautiful to lie next to him, feeling his warmth, his strong presence, and listen to the slow and steady rhythm of his breathing. A physical joining will come soon, and it will be wonderful, but last night, we shared an emotional and spiritual joining that connected our hearts and fulfilled us in a way that even lovemaking cannot.

Everyone is beginning to stir. The house will soon be as full as my heart is right now.

The children will be eager to see their father, and I will be forced to share him with three little people who have missed his presence and affection. We will take on our roles as parents once more because Dad is home, and our family is complete.

Monday, May 2, 2016

After a brief hiatus, I have returned! To those who have sent messages, asking about me, and wondering if I will be updating my blog, thank you for your concern. I am doing well, and plan to continue posting as the days go by. Unfortunately, I am a day behind on some of my features, including the Nursing Diary and Interviews, and they will be updated tomorrow! Thank you for your patience and interest.

I had an incredibly busy weekend; so busy, as a matter of fact, that there didn't seem to be enough hours in the days to get everything accomplished. As I began to feel slightly overwhelmed, I decided to prioritize, and set my writing aside in lieu of spending time with my husband, children, and other family members while keeping in touch with friends via email. It was the right decision, because amid all of the hustle and bustle, I had many moments of reflection.

It's very difficult to choose what to post...and what not to post at times, as I always consider very carefully what you might enjoy reading before I sit down to complete my daily blog posts. I spent a great deal of time considering this post, as a matter of fact, and after talking everything over with S, he encouraged me to write this, and I can only hope that I can explain my position succinctly and without offense.

When I first began writing this blog, I chose to do so with a frank honesty that allowed me a liberating freedom; I was so incredibly filled with joy because of the re-opening of my ANR with S that I truly couldn't refrain from sharing it with the world. I want others to understand the complete bliss that can be gained from sharing the nursing experience with the person you love most in this world. I wanted to share the aspects of our relationship openly, in an attempt to show my readers what my experiences have taught me about myself and my husband. I also wanted people to feel comfortable enough to ask questions about the nursing relationship, as well as about S and me, and who we are as both individuals and a happily married couple. I also wanted to be the shoulder for those struggling to achieve a committed ANR to lean on, as something of a support system, as someone who could understand their hopes and desires, while listening without question or judgment. And I still wish for all of these things.

However, over the weekend, a couple of people chose to overstep their bounds with me, and caused me to re-evaluate many things, including this site and my original blog. If my posts have somehow given you the wrong impression, then I am sorry. Because I share s0 much of my personal journey to the public, I am sure that I seem to be an extremely forward and liberated person who would enjoy blatant sexual advances, presumptuous emails, and disrespectful behavior that bordered on somewhat threatening. That is not who I am. As surprising as some might find this, I am a very private and shy person; I am an introvert who prefers to stand on the sidelines rather than be the center of attention. When I allow people to truly know me, they are given much more than the surface LMM. I share important details of my life with them; they know what S and I (and our children) look like; they know our names and the very real details of our life as the very average couple we are. They are interested in much more than our nursing life; they want to scratch that LMM surface and get to know me--just as much as I want to know them. If we are nursing friends, a phrase that one of my own friends so perfectly coined, then, of course, we discuss nursing, but we discuss other important aspects of our lives, too, and it's a beautiful thing!

For a while over the weekend, I considered--briefly--the notion of removing my site and blog, but the idea of really doing that made me so sad. I love this so much, and I don't want to stop. And, as long as you would like to continue reading it, I will continue writing it with the same joyful abandon as before. I also debated on whether to make this a password protected site, but the idea seemed so wrong. I want readers to have easy access to my posts without having to worry about the hassle of requesting a password. So...things will remain unchanged for now.

The Bountiful Fruits Chat Room was intended for visitors' personal enjoyment, no strings attached. When the Mister and I arranged for chat sessions with interested people, we intended to use that hour of time to share personal relationship insight with others and offer Nursing Couple Q and A sessions. Unfortunately, a very few people felt that they could use that hour to share their fantasies of me and make unreasonable requests of me. I do not engage in fantasy role play with strangers. I do not indulge in cyber sex. I am not interested in your descriptions of what you dream that my breasts look like. These are things that make me extremely uncomfortable; because of this, I will no longer be utilizing the chat feature, although others may feel free to do so. If anyone is interested in a fun and pleasant relationship Q and A chat, I will arrange a private chat room for us, but for now, all public chat room sessions are canceled until further notice.

Thank you so much to those of you who enjoy Bountiful Fruits and respect me as a very real person. I deeply appreciate it, and love hearing from you! Many thanks to those who continue to offer kindness and support, and encourage me to continue to write.

Friday, April 29, 2016

Because it has been a hectic week and we are preparing for S' departure, which means attempting to fit in as much together-and-family time as we possibly can before he leaves, I had previously planned a few different things for my TGIFriday post, but a message that I received this morning really caused me to reflect on some things, and led me to write this article.

Although S and I have practiced the ANR lifestyle throughout the course of our marriage, I didn't understand that there were others--many others--who enjoyed the experience, too, and after wondering for a very long time if we were "normal", that way of thinking led me to do a lot of soul (and Internet) searching about six years ago. I found a limited amount of information on ANR, but a lot of what I discovered viewed the lifestyle questioningly, negatively, or in a light of fetishism, so I closed the computer, and gave it very little more thought until we re-opened our dedicated ANR, incorporating lactation into it, in March.

It was then that I decided I wanted to meet other ANR couples and people who shared our ideals regarding the lifestyle. By the time I made the decision to seek out others, I had already begun blogging about my personal journey, and was shocked to find that visitors were actually reading my posts--and enjoying them! It was a humbling and amazing experience, and because of the support and encouragement, I continued to write with a liberating freedom and a lot of joy.

While doing some research online, I happened upon a website dedicated entirely to the Adult Nursing Relationship; I won't mention the specific website, but it was there that I began to meet some truly wonderful people, and there that I learned even more about this lifestyle. Although we don't all view ANR in the same way (and why should we? After all, it's a very private journey, and our reasons for embarking upon it are uniquely exclusive to each of us), I found that we all share a very basic desire: the need to nurse. I have formed friendships with many of these people, and many of them now follow my blog, come to this site, and leave beautiful private messages for me. (If you are one of those people, then I am sure you know which website I'm referring to.)

One of the reasons I was drawn to this particular website was its very basic, no-frills appearance; it is not overrun with images, and there are guidelines on what is considered appropriate--and what is not. I appreciate and respect that. This site offers many features to its visitors, including discussion boards, a forum, live chat, and a message center where members can communicate with one another. I also found it very interesting that this site offers free space for personal blogging. Because I became so busy with my own blog, I found that I wasn't able to frequent the site very often; I participated in a few discussions, shared some of my thoughts, and occasionally enjoyed utilizing my personal blogging area. Readers' responses were very supportive, and so kind and uplifting. Because of this, I posted a blog on the site earlier in the week.

And that's where I inadvertently made a mistake.

Uh-oh. I used the "B" word.

I did. I used the word boobs.

And it seems that I have overstepped my bounds.

Apparently, I am a rebellious guideline-breaker who must now bear the branding of the dreaded Scarlet B upon my blouse for the ANR world to see. ;)

One of the site moderators actually contacted me about the error of my ways, and after a bit of consideration, I sent a return message to her, politely, but firmly, defending my position.

The offensive post ( a simple copy and paste of Boob Chat: Part II) was my most popular one. Readers left messages that read:

I love it!

Thank you for brightening my day!

Hilarious!!

You have an agile mind and you can WRITE! I look forward to reading more of your posts.

and appreciated the tongue-in-cheek humor of it, while generously commiserating with the struggle of being a big-breasted girl, and adding their own humorous anecdotes in the comment section. Some who didn't feel comfortable enough to publicly comment left me private messages.

It's so odd to me that the blog post that received the most positive responses from readers is the one that the site's mod found the most inappropriate--and took upon herself to delete.

I get asked a lot of questions, and one of the most common is: Do Christians judge you and leave rude messages for you, telling you that your lifestyle is wrong?
No. They do not. I have spoken to many Christians since I began blogging about my lifestyle choice, and their response has been overwhelmingly encouraging.

It's ironic, isn't it, that I managed to offend the moderator of a website that caters specifically to ANR and breasts simply by using one euphemism on a personal blog, but have yet to offend the sensibilities of many who do not participate in such a lifestyle.

Although I take my own ANR very seriously, and respect others' lifestyle choices as well, I am still able to find the humor in it. And there really is humor in all aspects of life and relationships, including the adult nursing one. Believe me on this, I know! Trust me, there is nothing funnier than almost suffocating your husband during a soothing nursing session. This actually happened, thanks to my boobs breasts. S and I shared so much laughter that night--it truly enhanced the feeding experience; we felt so giddy and light-hearted. (It's a really funny story, and I think I'll turn it into a blog post! :))

Not everything is meant to be offensive--and not everything should be construed as such.

And this includes using the words boobs, knockers, and jugs in reference to the female breasts.

I am a female. I am also a fierce advocate of positive body image. Women are fabulous beings--and all breasts are exquisite, regardless of shape, size, or how you refer to them. Sometimes, euphemisms aren't meant as derogatory; sometimes, they are used as mere alternatives. I discuss "breasts" every day, and I'm afraid there are only so many times that I can type that word without sounding repetitive, so...I sometimes use alternatives. Sometimes, euphemisms are even cute. Breast Chat just doesn't have the same ring to it as Boob Chat.

I could have ignored this entire topic and conveniently swept it under the proverbial rug, but I chose not to. Staunch stoicism is sometimes necessary, of course, but humor is important, too, and laughter is vital--it's what keeps many of us going throughout the day.

After exchanging messages with the mod earlier today, I'm not sure that I will be a welcome addition on that site any more; as a matter of fact, I might have been banned. I don't know because I haven't bothered to check. I'm okay with an account deletion anyway, because I honestly realize that although I am a member of the ANR community--and proud of it--that site and I aren't a very good fit for one another. It's much too stifling for someone like me. :)

Thursday, April 28, 2016

I knew this day was coming. I've known for quite some time now, and I've been able to put his departure out of my mind and focus on everything that is wonderful. But now that the time is drawing near, it is all that I can seem to think about.

We've been apart before in the past, often and for very long, difficult periods of time, under much worse circumstances. You would think I would be used to it by now, wouldn't you?

But I'm not.

I hate it when he goes away.

I know that it won't be forever. He'll be home again in a week. And what's a week, really, when you think about it?

When he is away from me, the house seems so empty and our bed feels so lonely. At night I sleep on his pillow, and it brings him closer to me, but it's never enough to really satisfy me, because I miss feeling his chest pressed warmly against my back and his arm curled protectively around my waist as we spoon through the night. Every night that we have been together, we have slept that way for almost 15 years (unless a little one has had a bad dream or was frightened awake by a thunderstorm, and feels comfortable enough to snuggle down between Dad and Mama in their big, warm, cozy bed with the piles of soft pillows and fluffy queen-sized blanket), and I've grown very accustomed to his night-time presence.

Perhaps even too accustomed to it.

When S leaves, it always feels that he takes half of me with him. And I never truly feel whole again until he walks back through the door, filling our home--and my world--with his strength and security.

I miss watching him shave in the morning and sharing coffee with him at the breakfast table. I miss listening to him read a bedtime story to our daughter and telling our sons good-night. I miss his voice, the way his laugh fills an entire room when he's really amused by something. I miss him.
I am already beginning to feel the on-set of separation anxiety--and it's horrible.

But I think it's one of the realities that you have to face when you are in a committed ANR. You invest so much of yourself in another person that it's difficult to let them go--even for a little while. And the challenge of separation doesn't just stem from the act of nursing, but from the emotional drawing and pulling that comes along with nursing. Even if it is temporary, that connection is hard to break.

And, now, even more so because I am lactating.

I have reached a level in my lactation journey that I am very comfortable with right now. Although I plan to continue on to full lactation in the future, a goal that S and I have been working together to accomplish, I am satisfied--and thrilled--with what my breasts have achieved in just one short month. My milk supply has come in beautifully, and continues to increase, replenishing itself quickly after each feeding, but I remain at the place where I need S to draw it from my breasts, as I haven't yet reached the point of being able to express through pumping. This is another concern: I don't want to suffer from engorgement, and I certainly don't want to drop to a lower level of lactation.
S and I have spent many hours discussing our situation, and he was open enough to tell me how difficult the separation is going to be for him, too, while also showing so much support and encouragement regarding my milk dilemma. (It's so wonderful to have a supportive partner who reminds me every day that he is not nursing from my breasts for the milk, but for the intimacy and deep connection we share; even though I understand completely that he will dry nurse just as contentedly as he is feeding now, I have grown very, very fond of my milk, and I know that he has, too, and I honestly do not want to see a decrease in supply.)

After weighing and considering our options, and deciding that, as the end of the school year grows closer, it just wouldn't be practical for me to join him out-of-state, I have chosen to pump in his absence, to provide as much breast stimulation as possible. By pumping during each regularly scheduled nursing time, and possibly a couple of times in between, if time permits, I hope to maintain my milk supply, which, of course, is why I have been on a proper breastpump search and find mission over the past two weeks. :) The Mister and I are going breastpump shopping on Friday evening, as a matter of fact, which he ought to find a lot more interesting than shoe shopping, which I have been known to do on therare occasion.

Now that I've had time to truly think about our situation, I'm sure that everything will be okay. Things often have a way of turning out better than you think they will. I am confident in the abilities of my body--and my breasts--and secure in knowing that even if my milk supply is hindered by this impending week-long separation, I have a loving man who will be eager to return to the shelter of my arms and the comfort of my bosom.

Sunday, April 24, 2016

Saturday was extremely eventful! Along with our weekly date, I had my very first ever podcast interview! Wow!

Believe it or not, I am something of an introvert. (I know, shocking, right? :)) I always seem to have a lot to say, but I just find it a lot easier to express it through the written word rather than the spoken word, so giving an interview was a bit nerve-wracking!

My love knew how challenging it was going to be, so he took extra good care of me! This TLC included a back rub, lots of kisses, and many, many words of support and encouragement. He also took the children out for the afternoon to ensure that I had plenty of peace and quiet during my Skype session.

It really is the little things that mean so much!

So, how did it all go?

Pretty well...I think. I actually found my voice, remembered how to speak, and didn't suffer from too much tongue-tied-itis...so, I'm happy!

And the romantic evening that followed was magical!

I hope you are enjoying your Sunday and that your weekend has been wonderful.

I'll be back tomorrow with new questions (and answers) on my advice page as well as a brand new ANR interview, and new posts will follow throughout the week.

Saturday, April 9, 2016

I love to date my husband, and have come to anticipate our Saturdays when we will have long intimate moments that belong only to us. There is unspoken passion as we exchange eager glances across the breakfast table as the children scamper underfoot, a deep desire that must remain bridled until we're alone. There is something so exciting and intriguing about the careful preparations I will make to ensure that I turn his head and catch his eye.

I feel giddy.

Our personal ANR has helped to spark such deep passion and rekindle the fire of romance...we are closer physically and emotionally than either of us could have believed possible. It's so beautiful to fall in love...especially when you're falling in love with your spouse! ❤️

I have many articles (and maybe even a few surprises) planned for the upcoming week, so I hope you'll visit again.

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

S and I have been able to incorporate morning nursing sessions (along with our nightly nursing) into our daily life, and the feedings have been a wonderful way to start our day. Both of us feel relaxed and rejuvenated and ready to face the challenges of work and motherhood. It has become routine that when the alarm goes off, I roll over in our comfy, sleep-warm bed and find him waiting for what he teasingly calls "pre-breakfast".

Until this morning.

Our alarm did not go off. Which meant he overslept. Which meant he was going to be late for work. Which meant he missed his morning feeding.

Uh-oh.

The Adult Nursing Relationship is a beautifully complex thing; once you have begun a scheduled nursing routine, it is incredibly difficult (both emotionally and physically) when a feeding is missed. Now that I am in the process of re-lactating, I have reached the stage in the process where I become uncomfortable if I am not able to nurse. I actually NEED it.

My breasts are protesting.

I have experienced the familiar tingling prickles of the let-down reflex and the fullness that tells me that my breasts "need" to be emptied.

Manual expression it is...until tonight.

I think the emotional need is even greater. For both of us.

S just left me a text message that read:

Missing you and our time together this morning

So I know that his need to be nursed is as strong as my need to be nursed FROM.

My advice to women who are involved in a loving ANR where feedings are carefully planned and scheduled?

Do NOT miss a feeding (unless absolutely necessary). Stay committed to your routine and focused on your feeding schedule.

Tuesday, March 29, 2016

Does it seem that I am breast and nursing obsessed? Judging from my posts, I'm sure you would think so. I haven't bothered to count the times that I have written the words "breast" and "nursing", but if I did, I'm fairly confident the number would be high. In my defense, though, this IS an ANR blog, so it makes perfect sense that my posts focus on boobs, right? When you are in a committed ANR, it is difficult not to be at least SLIGHTLY obsessed (obsessed doesn't seem to be the word that I am looking for, but it will suffice for now) with the lifestyle; after all, a great deal of your time becomes dedicated to nursing another human being, and that is no different than nursing a little one. When my children were breastfeeding, I was a notorious clock watcher, and as the time for their feedings drew near, my mind would immediately remind me: "it's time to feed the baby". That routine became so natural, so instinctive, that clocks and watches no longer became necessary. I simply KNEW when my child was hungry; they didn't need to utter even the tiniest cry.

And that is how it is with S in our ANR. Nursing is a given occurrence. Once we decided to embark upon and re-explore our journey together, he simply KNOWS that I will be available to him at 11:00 each night. He doesn't have to ask to be nursed, and I don't have to remind him that it is time for his feeding. We simply snuggle down, both of us finding the most comfortable of positions, and I offer my breast to him. When he has fed from both sides, we often drift off to sleep, secure in our love for one another.

As we have stayed on our nursing schedule and my body has begun to show very early signs of change, I am much more focused on nursing, much more attuned to my breasts' needs. S is at work right now, but if he were home, I would suggest that he nurse now (and then again tonight) because I am feeling emotional and my breasts "think" they need to be emptied. As enticing as it might be to engage in around the clock nursing, it just isn't practical, so although it may SEEM that the entirety of our marriage revolves around nursing, that could not be further from the truth.

On the surface, we are just an average couple with many obligations; children to raise, bills to pay, gardens to tend, and lawns to mow. S works outside of the home, I work within it. We discuss the children's grades and allowance, politics, current events, and the price of gasoline. We plan vacations, enjoy family game night, and Friday night kid-friendly movies with our offspring. During the day, I am busy with school work, laundry, and toy picking up, managing to fit in a bit of candle making, knitting, and writing here and there. It just so happens that within all of this mundane, there is a time for adult intimacy and bonding in the form of nursing. It is such a natural part of our everyday life; it reminds me of what we have created TOGETHER within the bonds of marriage, and it is thrilling.

Monday, March 28, 2016

When connecting with others who are thinking of embarking on an ANR--or are simply curious about it--I have discovered a lot of concern regarding emasculation, a terrible stigma that involves "seeing" your husband as "less of a man" simply because he suckles from the breast. One woman even questioned whether she would be able to see her husband in the same way, particularly since he has taken on the dominant role as "head of the household". I don't question or judge her feelings regarding this stigma, nor do I take offense at her concerns. I do believe, however, if you are experiencing these troubling thoughts, then an ANR is probably not for you.

I am married to an extremely masculine man; as a matter of fact, even S' job fits into the stereotypical "man mold". S is tall and strong, very motivated and career-oriented. He is a wonderful man, a fantastic husband, dedicated father, and excellent provider. In our home, and because of our personal spiritual and religious beliefs, I do consider him the head of our household. I rely on him for so much as my strength, life partner, and helpmate. For me, it seems so natural to allow him to take on that masculine role; when we married almost 15 years ago, I chose to be a stay at home wife and mother, a luxury that S afforded to me. Because of this, I see my role in our home as the caregiver. I cook and prepare brown bag lunches, I clean the house, do the laundry, tend to my flower beds and garden, and homeschool our children. Since it is my role to nurture, and because I take care of his other needs, nursing my husband seems to be a very natural part of our life together. Allowing him to feed from my breasts is just one more thing that I can provide for him, and when he is lying in my arms, our skin touching, our limbs entertained, I view him as a loving man who is enjoying my body in every way that he possibly can.

S is very comfortable with his masculinity; he was raised by good German people, but in a very austere environment where physical affection was not shown. When we first met, he was surprised by my love of hand-holding, back rubbing, hair stroking, and soft stolen kisses. I think he was even more surprised by himself--he soon realized how much he enjoyed my physical attention. We have always had a very affectionate relationship and it has extended to our children. I think his love of nursing began when he first watched me breastfeed our oldest son. He envied the bond, the closeness, and was amazed that I was able to nourish and sustain another human life.

It truly is empowering.

To nurse a masculine man, he must first be comfortable with his own masculinity. An ANR is not about "mommy issues"; it's about the strong bond of intimacy. Perhaps, while nursing, it's the one time that he doesn't HAVE to be strong. He can let his guard down, allow the weight of the world to slip from his shoulders, and relax. There are no bills to pay, no hinges to tighten, no lawns to mow...there is nothing but his wife's skin, her scent, her willingness to love...and THAT is a beautiful thing...and a way for the man to rejuvenate and prepare for the next day when, during normal 9-5 hours, he is expected to be a "man's man". Archaic, perhaps, but a reality.

I have found that many people think of breast milk as "gross". I can't understand how nutrient-enriched milk from a woman's breasts can be viewed as nastier than a jug of homogenized milk pumped from a cow's rubbery udders. It's laughable, really, that someone can easily enjoy a farm animal's milk, but wince at the mete thought of sampling a woman's milk. This may stem from the fact that breasts have become sexually objectified; people don't seem to remember that breasts, although lovely to look at, have always been intended to sustain human life. When my third child was born, I had an abundance of milk; not only did the baby nurse, I was able to express and stock pile my supply. As a matter of fact, I had so much milk that I gave it to my older children in their cups. S even put some in his morning coffee!

S is viewed as very masculine in his work place, which employs an all-male work force, and one of his co-workers recently became the father of a breastfed baby. Shop talk ensued, and S learned that his co-worker is adverse to breast milk; he doesn't mind that baby is fed "from the tap", but he steers clear of it. The fact that his wife is nursing has impeded rather than enhanced their sex life. This talk allowed S the opportunity to offer his opinion on breast milk; he told his co-workers that he loved the taste, that he enjoyed watching our children nurse, and reactions to this varied from curiosity to revulsion; he was teasingly accused of being "freaky" and "kinky". S took the ribbing in stride, even taking the opportunity to defend his opinion on breast milk. The stories, particularly the ones in which his co-workers come to him and broach the subject of "boob juice", make me wonder how many of them really have a secret desire to sample the goods or nurse, but are too insecure to admit it. If this is the case, it's such a shame; the male species should never limit or deny themselves pleasure based on societal stigma or the fear of emasculation. For me, there is nothing sexier than a
man who knows himself, his desires, and indulges in them without fear or shame.

The ANR is a very personal journey, and as comfortable as S and I are with it, it is still a very private part of our married life, one that is not meant to be shared with others. It is much different than adult breastfeeding and role play; for us, it is not a fetish or something that is done merely for pleasure. It is an intimate bonding experience that has brought my husband and I closer. I never thought I could be
more in love with S than I was before, but I am. He is my masculine man.

Sunday, March 27, 2016

I wonder why it is, in a society such as ours, when it seems that "anything goes", that a woman's breasts, particularly if used for comfort and nurturing, are taboo? It seems ridiculous to me, and I'll unashamedly admit that I LOVE my boobs! Although I am fairly petite, I was blessed with naturally large (DDD) and extremely sensitive breasts. I developed much earlier than other girls my age, but I always embraced my "bountiful fruits" as a symbol of my femininity; as much as I have always loved my boobs--and their size--I never felt that they were meant for just ANYONE to worship and enjoy. As a matter of fact, I kept them carefully tucked away (well, as much as you can keep a pair of jumbo jugs tucked away) until I met the man who later became my husband. I have found that as much as I love my tatas, HE loves them even more. I like to remind "S", as I will refer to him, that before I came into his life, he was a self-proclaimed butt man. And he will admit that boobs were never really his "thing"--until he saw mine.

My husband is a gracious and generous lover who spends long moments fondling, caressing, kissing, and suckling my breasts. He reaches for them during the day, brushing his fingers against them through my shirt and rests his cheek on them at night. I love the attention, the incredible sensation, and my awareness of my own womanhood soars whenever I am reminded of his love for my breasts. Some of the Mother Earth emotions that I experience while S is dutifully tending to my needs stem from the fact that I am a very nurturing person by nature, and nurturing the man that I love seems as normal and natural to me as nurturing our three children.

Our journey into a loving Adult Nursing Relationship (ANR) was not a planned path, but one that we discovered by chance when I was pregnant with our first child 14 years ago. Neither of us had had children; I had never been pregnant before and he had never been with a pregnant lady before, so both of us were very eager to explore my changing body--and the experience was AMAZING.

I lactated very early in my pregnancy, and began to produce actual milk by the beginning of my fourth month. S was amazed, and when the first glistening drops sprang from my nipples, he practically DEVOURED me! My milk flow continued throughout my entire pregnancy, and S enjoyed suckling and gently squeezing my boobs, drinking what came so freely to him, and I was able to nurse our son without incident from the moment he was born.

As my milk supply increased, S became even more enamored with my breasts. In the evening, after our son had been fed, it became a routine for me to nurse my husband. Not only was it very sensual and loving, it was extremely empowering to know that I could nurture and nourish two beautiful people. S loved the taste of my milk, which was warm and sweet and sugary, and would let it trickle into my mouth as we kissed. Not only did my husband's nursing help to increase my milk supply, it prevented me from suffering from engorgement. Somehow, without saying a word to one another, we began an adult nursing relationship, and it seemed that nothing could be more beautiful or natural.

I was able to wet nurse my husband for a total of six years--throughout three pregnancies and the breastfeeding that ensued. When our youngest child was weaned at the age of two five years ago, our schedules became so hectic as we juggled parenthood, a new mortgage, work, and school, our ANR began to suffer. S and I still enjoyed love making (with plenty of tit play), but he no longer nursed. I missed breastfeeding him AND the baby, but both seemed equipped to move forward without the aid of my boobs, so I didn't pursue the issue.

Until a month ago.

S and I were cuddling together on the sofa, totally relaxed and attuned, and I unbuttoned my blouse and offered him my left breast. Without hesitation, he nuzzled closer and latched on, cupping my breast with his hand as he suckled. It was so wonderful that after he had finished, I fed him my right breast, and he nursed from that side, too.

We didn't indulge in nursing again until last night.

I had had a very stressful day, and as we were lying in bed together, I suggested that he relax and let me nurse him. When he seemed eager, I took off my nightgown, settled back, and nursed him until he fell asleep at my breast. I was eager to discuss reopening our ANR, but it had to wait until the following morning.

I was stunned to find out that S was as eager to discuss our encounter as I was--and I was thrilled to learn that S had been hoping to proceed with our nursing relationship; he'd wanted to for quite a while, but hadn't wanted to bring it up. It was nice to discuss the topic so freely and so openly,
without embarrassment or shame. We chatted about the intimacy and closeness we hoped to gain from our ANR, decided on schedules, considered the option of inducing lactation, and opted for an open nursing relationship--one in which S will be able to nurse freely in the night without asking my permission.

And THIS is how I once again became a nursing wife. I will be feeding S later tonight, and I am eager to share this experience with him once more.